


He Didn't Know

by CorruptedPurrcy



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 12:22:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15949265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorruptedPurrcy/pseuds/CorruptedPurrcy
Summary: This is just me trying to understand AO3 while writing a depressing one-shot.×××××××He didn't know when it had started.He didn't know when everything started to feel so dull and boring.He didn't know when he had started thinking of ways to die.He didn't know when he had started hurting himself.He didn't really know when it all started.He didn't really care either.





	He Didn't Know

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be something for a fandom with some hurt-comfort but I don't know what happened.
> 
>  
> 
> Please also note this has a very quick pace.

He didn't know when it had started.

He didn't know when everything started to feel so dull and boring.

He didn't know when he had started thinking of ways to die.

He didn't know when he had started hurting himself.

He didn't really know when it all started.

He didn't really care either.

××××××

So, here he was, sitting on the bathroom floor. Staring at the blade of the box cutter, which he had stolen from his dad, pressing it against his thumb lightly.

It had started off with him dragging his nails against his arm. Then he started using scissors and plastic knives, not really wanting to leave scars. (At the time the pain they made him feel was just enough.) However, on a certain night, when his thoughts became too much, he used a piece of glass, which he had picked up from the streets (he had washed it) and, from then on he used that.

And now he was here, a box cutter in hand, while the other was on his right thigh.

He had started off by causing pain on his arm however that proved to be a bad idea after he started using the glass, (which left scars which caused him to wear sweaters and long sleeves in warm weather), and he never really had a good excuse for the scars if anyone saw.

His thighs, however, was a good place, not only was he able to hide the scars with long shorts and pants however because he was fairly clumsy he was able to make some excuse like: "I feel on some hard ground at the park" which followed in some answer like "You actually go outside!?"

Small tears started to rise at the thought. Why couldn't he just say the truth like he once did with other people? Was it the fact he was given disgusted looks? Was it the fact he had been given rude comments?

He gripped the box cutter even harder at the thought, letting tears fall down, however, bit his lip to keep the noise inside.

He could hear his mother cooking from the kitchen, which was directly on the other side of the hallway. He took a deep breath, calming himself down and shaking his dark, depressing thoughts away.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself do it. Despite having done this many times before, he couldn't do it. It felt like he was forcing himself to think these thoughts.

It was selfish, it felt selfish. And he couldn't describe him. Just a few moments ago he felt so set on it. So set on bringing himself the relief he wanted.

But now...

Now it felt selfish, which made him feel disgusted with himself. Maybe it was the thought of his mother that made him stop.

His mother... the women who gave birth to him. The women who put up with everything he did. The women who has a sickness that the doctors still haven't found a cure. The women who despite having leg cancer can still get up, can still get up and take care of both him and his sister, can still get up and make food for her family. The women who wanted the best for him, who only asked a little bit in return for everything she has done for him.

The women, his mother, the one who he wanted to leave because he felt so done with the world.

How could he?

With tears falling, even more, he curled himself up. How could he think of leaving her? How could he leave his family?

He was selfish, a selfish human who didn't deserve the family and friends he had.

With that bitter thought, he got up, putting the box cutter on the top of the lid of the toilet and prepared to shower.

××××××

He didn't know when it had started.

He didn't know when everything started to feel so dull and boring.

He didn't know when he had started thinking of ways to die.

He didn't know when he had started harming himself.

He didn't really know when it all started.

He didn't really care either.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is very much welcomed dkjcdojf.


End file.
